


Treasure Hunters International

by SamanthaStephens



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Academia, Adventure, Claustrophobic situations, M/M, Scuba Diving, Treasure Hunting, near-drowning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-11
Updated: 2013-02-11
Packaged: 2017-11-28 22:31:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,384
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/679590
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SamanthaStephens/pseuds/SamanthaStephens
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dom was Arthur's doctoral adviser in an archeology program that specializes underwater artifacts. Eames was part of a group of deep-water scuba divers that looted shipwrecks for fun and profit. So obviously they were rivals--although in Arthur and Eames' case, rivals with a bit of an angry flirtation going on. But then Mal disappears, likely due to suicide, and Dom loses his tenure and racks up enormous legal bills defending himself against murder accusations. So he takes off to become a treasure hunter, hoping to a score big enough to provide for his broken family. Arthur abandons his degree and follow on Dom's heels. </p><p>When the story starts, Saito has approached Dom and Arthur to undertake a mission to recover some generation's-old family treasure. Dom recruits former rival Eames and gas-blending chemist Yusuf to join the team. Arthur brings Ari on board as the mission's cook. Once they're all together, Arthur is forced to confront a lot of his misconceptions about Eames and to question his blind loyalty to Dom as he and Eames repeatedly find themselves in dangerous situations and have to learn to trust each other completely.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Treasure Hunters International

**Author's Note:**

> First of all, thank you to the amazing artwork from tsuminoaru! I'm in love with it.  
> http://tsuminoaru.livejournal.com/29066.html
> 
> Secondly, this fic contains some aspects of real-world accuracy when it comes to diving, but reality is frequently sacrificed for ease of narrative and storytelling. I am a recreational diver and I have family who do serious, deep technical diving. But I fudged a lot of details for the sake of fitting it all together. So please, please, please FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, if you're learning to dive do not use ANYTHING I say here as an example of how it should be done.
> 
> Lastly, as far as historical and legal accuracy about shipwrecks and treasure hunting, well that's pretty much made up out of whole cloth.

 

Arthur should have expected it, but he's blindsided when Cobb makes the suggestion. 

"If we're going to do this, we need to get a real team together, not just the two of us. ... Do you know where Eames is keeping himself these days?"

Fuck! The last thing Arthur wants to deal with right now is Eames pushing them around and disregarding all the rules.

There's no way they could trust him not to at least _try_ to screw them over and take the treasure for himself. That's his whole modus operandi. So far as Arthur knows, he's devoted his entire diving life to just taking whatever he comes across without regard to history or preservation or anything. How can they count on him now when the stakes are so high? 

"I don't think that's a good idea, Dom. Eames can't be trusted." 

"Come on, he's not nearly as bad as you think."

"He's a scoundrel!"

"Nothing his little group did was actually illegal, Arthur. It was just annoying. He's an incredible talent. We're going to need it if we want to succeed on this mission." 

"Fine, but I'm not going with you to recruit him. ... And I _will_ say I told you so when he fucks us over." 

Arthur had first seen Eames hanging on a deco line as he descended hand-over-hand down his own anchor line, following Dom, Mal and Nash down into the darkness where the _U.S.S. Extractor_ waited for them. It was only his second-ever deep dive and he'd been fighting his anxiety, trying to keep his breathing even and his movements conservative. 

He'd starred at Eames as he passed, curious about the interlopers. Dom had been so irritated to see _The Kenyatta_ already anchored when they'd arrived at the site. Nash had given Arthur a whispered description of the Home Wreckers, a group of divers who sported matching leather jackets and were known to loot open wreck sites with abandon, seeking only their own thrills and profits. 

"Those things belong in a museum," Arthur had imagined whispering to Eames as he watched him breathing out of the suspended oxygen tank, tilting a little wave at Arthur across the expanse of water separating them. 

Of course, Arthur hadn't known Eames' name back then. He'd only known him as the Home Wrecker in the purple dry suit. (Why did such a thing even exist?) But it wasn't hard to figure it out once they'd met on dry land and he'd witnessed Eames' penchant for bright-colored clothing up close. 

"Hello, and who are you?" Eames had purred in his ear, already half drunk, when the Cobbs and their students had taken seats at Pearl's Dive Bar later that afternoon, exhausted and famished--all their research-quality artifacts cleaned and stowed properly in the back of the university museum's van. 

"Eames he's an undergraduate, let him alone," Dom had sighed. 

"I bear him no ill will. I'm just happy to see a new face in the mix," Eames had replied. "And I'm only 23 myself, Professor Cobb, hardly a predator."

Arthur had been just two-weeks shy of his own 21st birthday at the time and couldn't help noticing how attractive Eames was, even as he'd felt ruffled and irritated by the flirtation. If they'd met under different circumstances, Arthur would have likely welcomed Eames' attention. But armed with the knowledge that Eames was one of _those_ divers--the ones who hindered Dom and Mal's ability to study the artifacts from ocean's depths by taking them for their own pleasure and profit--well it had soured Arthur on returning any interest. 

He'd spent two and a half years of college trying to impress Mallorie Cobb enough to ingratiate himself into her and her husband's little team of researchers. He wasn't about to consider someone who flew in the face of all that effort worth his time. 

Nevertheless, Eames' eyes had followed him all night and when he'd gone to use the restroom alone a couple of hours later, he'd exited to find Eames leaning just a bit too casually on the opposite wall, chewing on a toothpick and smirking. 

"Think you're too good for me, college boy?" 

"I don't think I'm too good for anyone," Arthur had mumbled. He was the first in his family to pursue higher education and he'd always been sensitive about seeming like a snob. "I'm just not about to spend my time getting to know someone who's part of a group that my professors seem pretty much dead set against, considering they could, you know, drop me from this internship at any time."

"So you're not better than me, you just hope to be someday, is that it?" 

"I just want to work with the Cobbs. End of story. There's no 'better than' involved. Can't I just enjoy something and want to keep doing it?"

"Come out with me sometime and I'll show you how to really enjoy yourself  down there."

Arthur hadn't wanted to blush at the innuendo, but he'd felt his face heating up in the confines of the narrow hallway. 

"I don't think so, Mr. ... "

"Eames, Charlie Eames."

He'd held out his hand and Arthur shook it before hastening back to the table, worried that the Cobbs might get the wrong idea. 

"Maybe some other time then," Eames had called after him. 

\---

Arthur keeps himself busy working on their charts on the enormous retired barge Saito had rented for them as a work and living space. He's stewing at the thought of spending so much time with Eames, and a lot of it in close quarters, too.  

He'd be a liar if he said that he doesn't find Eames attractive. But Eames also represents everything Arthur worked so hard to differentiate himself from back in his student days. It's going to be painful making room for him on their side. Or to make room for themselves on his side, rather. Eames is sure to do nothing but gloat over how far Cobb has fallen, taking Arthur down with him into the black hole of treasure hunting--no longer diving for for high-minded research projects and museum collections, but for pure monetary gain. 

On his second evening alone, he leaves Saito's big boat for the first time since Dom's departure, drives his beat-up old car two hours north to his hometown and walks into Surf N' Stuff, pausing to fix his hair in the glassed-in entryway.  

He walks up to the bar, where Georgia tips him a wave and pours him a Coke. 

"Is Ari around? I need to talk to her." 

He's not exactly eager to have this conversation, but Cobb had tasked him with finding a cook for the mission and he isn't sure who else he can trust not to run off at the mouth. Ari's family, and while she may think Arthur's a bit of an oddball, she'd never betray him. It's just a matter of getting her to come around on Cobb. 

"Hey Artie what's happening? I stopped by your place the other night when I was down south in your neck of the woods for a party, but you weren't home. You still crashing with that creepy guy?"

"He's just in mourning."

"Yeah, well, the papers said it was all his fault." 

"But the courts cleared him, Ari. You know I wouldn't have dropped everything to help a man I thought was a murderer. I may be the black sheep around here, but I'm not actually crazy."

"It just doesn't add up is all."

"Well how would you like to spend some time getting to know him and decide for yourself?"

"Like how? I'm not going on some double date, if that's what you're thinking." 

"Ari when have I _ever_ asked you to do something like that?"

"Well who the hell knows anymore. You're never around."

"This would be strictly professional. We're heading out on a trip in a month or two and we need someone to cook on the boat. Would you do it? We'd pay well. No benefits though, but if it works out, you'll be sitting pretty." 

"Sitting pretty like how? I thought you guys gave all your shipwreck stuff to the university?"

Arthur sighs.

"I told you, I dropped out of my program. We're in it for ourselves now. Cobb needs to pay off his legal bills and get his life back together. I ... I just want to help."

Arthur couldn't really explain it to anyone else. He could have stayed at the university and finished his graduate work. There was no need for him to throw all his research away just because Mallorie Cobb went missing and her husband couldn't function on his own without her. 

But the Cobbs had given him everything: His first access to dive equipment with a workstudy job filling tanks; his internship that taught him how to tech dive and clean artifacts to museum grade; his acceptance as a PhD candidate in nautical archeology. 

He was a kid from the questionable side of the tracks who was never supposed to amount to anything. And even though he'd gotten into college on his own and impressed Mal enough to get her attention without outside help, Arthur couldn't help feeling like the Cobbs had given him nearly everything he liked best about himself. Granted, Arthur having followed Cobb in his dishonorable departure from the university meant he probably wouldn't amount to anything more than just another South Florida dive boat operator anyway, but he just hadn't been able to let his friend and mentor go off unassisted. 

Arthur hadn't believed Dom right away himself. The circumstances were too odd. A man and his wife go off on their sailboat for a romantic weekend and the man comes back alone, distraught, unable to explain what happened to her or where's she's gone. But at the end of the day, Arthur had had no choice. He simply couldn't accept that Dom would ever have harmed Mal. The way he loved her was like nothing Arthur had ever seen before or since.

Arthur was ashamed to admit, even to himself, that for a time he'd deeply wished that the Cobbs were his family instead of the one into which he'd been born. They were so smart and studious and beautiful. They had relatives in Los Angeles and Paris. They cooked food Arthur had never even heard of, let alone tasted, before attending that first mind-expanding dinner party at their house. 

Now he knows better. He's glimpsed the deep instability that was hiding beneath Mal's stylish exterior. He's seen Dom fall apart completely, broken and sobbing with snot streaming, uninhibited, down his face. He watched their children get on a plane to France alone, off to live in their grandparent's home, because their father was too bogged down in proving his innocence to care for them. 

Arthur's family may be dull and decidedly blue collar, but they're solid. They love him. They were proud fit to burst when he'd gone off to college. And they'd been surprised but, _eventually_ , supportive when he said he wanted to pursue a graduate degree in nautical archeology. They did make cringeworthy jokes from time to time, but they'd accepted his coming out with more-or-less open hearts. 

He knew he should be more involved in their lives these days. But it was hard to explain this situation with Cobb. He knew most of them assumed he and Cobb were sleeping with each other. He figured they'd wondered, from time to time, if he was the reason Mal went off the deep end, literally, and probably drowned herself. 

And if this crazy idea works. If they find a trove of 19th century treasure deep under the Sea of Japan, then it will probably only get harder. Selfishly, he admits that this is perhaps part of his reason for selecting Ari for the cook position. Hopefully, the money and attention won't alienate his family completely if his cousin is in the same boat--both literally and figuratively. 

He leans forward, whispering so Georgia can't overhear their conversation from her perch on the far side of the bar. Luckily, it's a slow night, so the place isn't terribly crowded and there's no one seated nearby.

"Ari we're looking at a big score. This Japanese guy is funding the trip. And it's going to be a big risk, no question. But if we can pull it off, then it's 10 percent of the cut for us each. I cleared it with Dom. Even crew members who don't go down get an equal share. That's why I want you on board. Why would I bring someone who wasn't family in on a take like that?"

Ari grips his arm. 

"Are you fucking with me Arthur? I'm not going to stand for getting scammed." 

"I can't believe you don't trust me. When have I ever lied to you, Ari?"

"When you told me you were making out with Olive Herndon when I found you down on the beach that night when I was  freshman and you a senior. Or when you told me Robbie Fischer was just your chemistry tutor when I came to your college graduation. Or what about when I found that magazine ... "

"Ari!" he yelps. "Those were all different and you know it."

"I'm just giving you a hard time, Artie. Relax. When do I have to decide?"

"Well the sooner the better. My boss is getting back into town tomorrow and I was supposed to take care of this days ago." 

"Avoiding me to the last," she says, but she elbows Arthur's ribs in a friendly way and grins. "I'm off in an hour. Wanna come see Papa? I know he misses you." 

Arthur feels his face open into the kind of helpless smile that any mention of his former dog elicits. He misses Papa every day. But following Cobb around on goose chase after goose chase with weeks between stops at his own houseboat wasn't really conducive to pet ownership. 

So he orders a sandwich and settles in to wait for the end of Ari's shift, making small talk with Georgia about the weather and the water conditions. It's pleasant in a hometown sort of way, but his mind is half focused on Dom's return with Eames the next day. 

It had been strange to hear Dom praise Eames' skills. He thought Dom outright hated all of the Home Wreckers. But he had to admit that between coursework requirements, thesis planning, TAing and his duties at the museum, he hadn't gone out on the boat with Dom and Mal as frequently as a graduate student as he had as in undergrad, when every short trip was his top priority and every break had been consumed with another journey to a distant, exciting wreck.

His parents had been not-so-secretly disappointed, at first, when he'd settled on archeology as a major. His dad had hoped for engineering, likely imagining Arthur would end up working on cars or cell phones or some kind of exciting, useful technology. His mother had  pushed for management or business administration, something practical. 

Arthur himself would never have predicted that he'd end up on the path he had taken. He'd never been a big Indiana Jones kid or into ancient cultures, or even fossils. He'd actually originally wanted to study marine biology. But he'd hated the first-semester ecology class required of all bio majors, and loved the elective-killing archeology survey course he'd taken from Mal. The rest was history. 

By the beginning senior year, Arthur had arranged his course schedule to maximize dive time. He also took as many classes with either Dom or Mal as possible, including an independent study that mostly amounted to helping one of Dom's graduate students with the grunt work for his own research.

Robbie had been even more disdainful of treasure hunters than the Cobbs were, and Arthur had never given Eames another glance. He was smitten. How could he not have been? Robbie was ridiculously smart and accomplished. He came from the same world as the Cobbs--wealthy and cosmopolitan. He had a gorgeous, haughty face. He somehow respected Arthur (yet another door the Cobbs had opened for him). And he never tired of telling Arthur he was sexy. 

The first night they'd kissed, working late cataloging artifacts in the museum's basement, Robbie had apologized profusely, but he'd kept touching Arthur's face and arms as he did so. Arthur was too young, he'd insisted. But the attraction had been undeniable and Arthur had continued to see him, at first secretly, and later openly, for more than two years, until Robbie finished his degree and accepted a position in Hawaii, of all places, leaving Arthur with nothing but a puppy they'd named together after a weekend in Key West. 

He'd called Arthur and begged him not to follow Dom after the trial, somehow knowing that Arthur was considering it even when no one else had had a clue. They'd fought, Robbie saying he was throwing away his career, Arthur unable to retort that he didn't have a career just a ridiculous, singular, almost certainly unhealthy devotion to the Cobb family. 

It had been the only serious relationship of Arthur's life. In the following years he'd had a couple of short-term hookups--one with a chemistry grad student and another with a Starbucks barista--some online dates from OK Cupid and an ill-advised meet-up on Grindr. But Arthur knew that deep-down he was a romantic guy. He didn't want to fuck people and never see them again, or only at a glance across a crowded room. It was cheesy and embarrassing, but he wanted to fall in love again, this time with someone who wouldn't accept a job halfway around the world without a second thought. 

Spending days on end around a hot, but utterly unserious, flirt like Eames will be bad for Arthur's mental health, no doubt. He'll have to be on his guard all the time. 

Ari startles him out of his reverie. 

"Let's hit the road. That doggie is going to be so damned excited to see you." 

And he is. The second Ari unlocks the door of her little bungalow Papa comes bounding outside, jumping up so his paws are on Arthur's chest and he's licking Arthur's face with enthusiasm. 

They spend the night drinking beers on Ari's back porch, Arthur alternating betweens games of fetch and cuddling sessions with Papa while he explains the basics of the mission to Ari. 

"There are all sorts of legal issues involved with shipwrecks. We used to use them to our advantage to prevent treasure hunters from getting access to the stuff we wanted to study. It's all about the country of origin and how the wreck occurred and what's on board and a hundred other factors. But this one should be in the clear for our own profit. Well it's actually quite roundabout, but it will work to our advantage. The boat belonged our patron's great-great-grandfather's and it's easily arguable that everything on board belongs to him. He will pay us each a tenth of the total value out of his personal fortune, so our take won't get caught up in any claims battles in Japan. Of course, the whole haul will end up in his private collection, which is the sort of thing Dom and I used to hate. But now he just needs the money to build a stable life with no job so that he can bring his kids home. And I guess I do too, since I doubt the university wants me back at this point. I don't even know if I'd want to be there anymore anyway ... "

"So ... you and Dom will be looking for this wreck the Sea of Japan and I'll be cooking and ... what else? I mean how do you know you'll find it?"

"Well it won't just be the two of us. Dom is recruiting this looter we both used to run up against in our academic days. And he wants to find someone to handle the gasses, maybe with medical training. As for the find, Saito had some pretty good information to start and I've been pouring over the charts and Dom over historic records. That will still take time. But hopefully luck will be on our side ... for once. And this Eames guy really is supposed to be one of the best there is."

"You haven't met him?"

"Oh no, I have. ... We didn't exactly ... There was some ... "

"You slept with him?"

"NO! Dear god, no. I just ... we didn't exactly hit it off. I was trying to hard to impress Dom and ... and Mal back then and I just couldn't be bothered to be friendly with a bottom-feeding shipwreck scavenger. ... I was a little uptight, I guess."

"How the mighty have fallen?"

"Something like that," Arthur gives her a sheepish look. "Anyway, it's bound to be _uncomfortable_ with him around."

\---

He crashes on Ari's couch, takes Papa for an early morning walk and hits the road before Ari wakes up, leaving a note for her to come down and meet the team on her next day off.

He hauls ass on the drive down to ensure he has plenty of time on the boat before Dom and--hopefully--Eames arrive. At some point, he's not only resigned himself to Eames' presence on board, but has started to believe Dom's spiel about the necessity of including him on this project. He's not quite sure how that happened.

He's in shorts a grungy old tee-shirt with loose, curling hair falling in his eyes when he hears footsteps coming up the gangway. Arthur tries not to visibly stiffen or look at all anxious about their arrival. He needn't have bothered, however, because it turns out that Dom is alone. Arthur tries to pretend he's not disappointed, but he can't quite convince himself.

"Eames turned you down?"

"No he's coming. You can't gloat just yet. He needs to be picked up at the airport tomorrow morning, can you swing it?"

"I guess. You don't want to?"

"I need to meet with Saito. He's in Miami as of yesterday. Is that OK?"

"It's fine, Dom. I can work with him without causing a problem."

"I actually think you'd like each other, if you gave him a chance."

Arthur clenches his fists on the table where he's working. Who is Dom to pull this shit after making if very, very, categorically fucking clear that he disliked everything about treasure looters for the first four-and-change years of his and Arthur's acquaintance and then not mentioning them at all over their past year together? Now Arthur's just supposed to throw all that prejudice aside, because they need help? He can be civil to Eames, but he's not going to be his friend. He doesn't understand what he'd missed over the past few years that makes Dom suddenly seem so chummy about the whole thing.

He spends the afternoon reviewing his progress on the charts, then excuses himself for the evening to go home to his own boat. He needs some time in a safe, comfortable space before this venture really gets off the ground.

As the sun sets, Arthur steers his own small vessel out into the water, navigating to a quiet spot a few miles away. He has his gear locked below deck. But rather than going for a rare-these-days solo dive, he just jumps over the side in his jockeys and lets the warm water envelop his body. The soft lick of the waves against the boat's sides relaxes him as he paddles around in circles.

He hasn't gone under by himself since Mal disappeared and he's kind of wary of it these days. Recreational divers never, ever go under alone. But the tech training he got in school convinced Arthur that no diver should ever depend on a buddy to be responsible for his own well-being, and he's gone on little reef sightseeing trips alone many times.

But he's sure that's exactly what  Mal had been doing when she'd slipped away from Dom in the middle of the night on their anniversary trip to the Bahamas. Well maybe not relaxing and observing nightlife on the reef. But going under on her own.

Dom says they hadn't even brought any dive equipment with them on the trip. He's not much of a recreational diver himself, preferring fishing when he's on leisure, and a sailboat isn't the easiest kind of craft to get in and out of while geared up anyway. But Arthur knows that it wouldn't have been hard for her to stow what she'd needed on board without Dom noticing and then use it to slip off into the night.

The only question is why on earth she would have done such a crazy thing.

She had been acting weird in the run-up to the trip. But Arthur had mostly chalked it up to end-of-semester stress combined with exhaustion from a flu that had plagued the entire Cobb family in the preceding weeks. He'd figured that a week of sailing with her husband would set Mal to rights and she'd be more than ready for their planned research trip off the coast of New Jersey in mid June.

Who knew? Maybe it really was something as simple as a moment of bad judgment from feeling overwhelmed with the demands of work and motherhood. Didn't you hear all the time about crazy stories of women taking off and leaving their children at the grocery store or on the side of the road. People interviewed in those cases always said  things like, "she seemed like such a good mother. I had no idea she was capable of something like this."

Dom remained tight-lipped on what her reasons might have been. But Arthur was sure he must have a private theory or two now that the initial cries of "why would she do this to us" and "what was she thinking" were a year in the rearview. Of course, he'd had not a single idea as to her motives for disappearing and probably committing suicide to offer his his own attorney. Arthur hadn't always been in the room for the meetings. But he'd been driving Dom back and forth, his license having been suspended, and he'd gotten many an earful about Team Cobb's strategies.

Looking up at the stars winking out from behind the city smog, he remembers his final conversation with his favorite-professor-turned-friend. She'd gone on and on about this idea of sinking a ship full of artifacts from their own time to be uncovered by future generations, like some sort of underwater time capsule. It hadn't made any sense to Arthur, given the risk of salt damage and decay, and he'd said as much, provoking her scorn.

"You don't know what it is to be a dreamer," she'd told him, flouncing off to her office.

He hates that those were her final words to him more than he can even begin to express. She died thinking he was small-potatoes and dull, two concepts that were utterly antithetical to everything Mal held dear.

It's true that Arthur tends to follow rather than lead, but he likes to think of it as a factor of his comparative youth. Also, as he'd learned over the course of the past year, people like Dom need someone with a talent for managing the details, or they'll end up lost at sea--quite literally. Just like every team needs an ideas man, it also needs someone to obsess over all the rest, and Arthur is proud of his skills on that front, even if he suspects nearly every day that Mal would have laughed at him for it.

\---

He wakes early the next morning and spends an inordinate amount of time deciding what to wear. When he'd thought Eames would be arriving to find him hard at work on Saito's barge the day before, Arthur had been content to appear scruffy and maybe a bit disheveled, as if he cared more about the charts than he did his appearance.

But somehow all that's changed now that he has to pick Eames up at Miami International Airport in his beat-up old Saturn and make conversation with him for the long drive back to the suburban marina where Dom and Saito are supposed to be going over their progress. He settles on some buttery linen pants leftover from his undergrad days and a crisp grey shirt.

Once on the road, he comes to terms with the fact that although he doesn't want anything to happen between he and Eames, he does want to feel that familiar sense attraction from the other man. It's less about wanting Eames to actually press the issue and more the need for stability. Arthur's life has changed so drastically from the last time he and Eames encountered each other closing in on two years ago, and he's been fighting a lot of feelings of inadequacy related to the failure of so many of Dom's get-rich-quick treasure-hunting schemes. Arthur _needs_ to know he's not so much of a loser that even an inveterate flirt and professional bottom feeder like Eames has lost interest.

It's hard to tell, actually, once they're reunited. Eames doesn't make any salacious remarks. In fact, his only comment is about it being "hot as bollocks" as he looks irritated and swigs from a bottle of off-brand water. But he does give Arthur a once over as he leans over to help pack Eames' luggage and gear into to the trunk. That's got to count for something, right?

"So Arthur, how's life on the other side of superiority treating you?" Eames asks, once the air conditioning has kicked into high gear when they're on the freeway.

"Save it Eames, I'm not going to be condescended to just because things have taken an ... unexpected turn for Dom and me."

"I'm not condescending, darling. I always wanted to see you do this for fun and profit, rather than just to gain someone's approval. I watched you on the _Extractor_ and on the _Cobol_. Once you get under and let yourself relax, you're like another person."

"Eames, I hardly think you know me well enough to decide what type of person I might or might not be."

"Arthur, I don't think anyone would have to know you at all. You wear your whole life on your sleeve, always trying to impress one person or another, whether its Dominic or that git of a boyfriend ..."

"Shut the fuck up about Robbie, Eames. You don't have any fucking right to judge either of us."

Eames puts his hands up in surrender and they stay silent for the rest of the ride, Arthur is fuming. How could Dom possibly think that the two of them would be friends? How could Arthur have cared what Eames thought about his outfit? This whole venture is starting to seem like the worst undertaking of his life.

Arthur suppresses his terrible mood as he helps carry Eames' bags full of clothes and gear up the gangway onto Saito's boat. No use making their new boss worry about team unity right off the bat. Arthur is determined to act like a professional, even in these ridiculous circumstances. They drop the bags in Eames' cabin and in the gear room below decks, then linger outside the main common area, waiting for an invitation from Dom and Saito inside. 

"I'm not accustomed to having a bloke like _that_ on board," Eames says, inclining his head toward Saito. "Posh businessmen don't usually do it our way, do they?" 

"I'm sorry do _we_ have a way?"

Eames sighs and rolls his eyes. 

"Look Arthur, I apologize if I offended earlier. I've a difficult time not speaking my mind ... even when I should just leave it lie. Please let's have a fresh start. I feel like we're going to need to trust each other, working for a corporate heavy like Mr. Saito."

"You don't trust him?"

"People with that much money and power are always thugs at some point in their lives. Either that or pampered little babies who never worked a day. Either way, I can't say I entirely trust his motives. Why hire a band of misfits like us when he could probably get his government to fund half this trip, yeah?"

"I'm just glad of the opportunity. If we don't fuck it up, that is." 

Eames eyes Arthur appraisingly.

"You gave a lot up to follow the big guy, huh? Worried about what comes next?"

"Not if we do our jobs, Eames."

"Well I'm _here_ , aren't I?"

Dom sees them through the window and waives them inside. He gets up, face plastered with a faux-hearty expression and claps Eames on the back before squeezing Arthur's shoulder in a way that he's never, ever done in all their time together. 

"Saito, you've met my partner, Arthur," Arthur shakes the impeccably groomed man's hand again. "And this is Eames, a master at getting in and out of tight spaces." 

Arthur feels his brow furrow at the compliment, wondering how Dom even knows such a thing. But he wills himself not to turn his head and question the remark. 

"Nice to meet you, Mr. Saito." 

"My pleasure, Mr. Eames. Arthur, nice to see you again. Dominic tells me you have made some excellent progress with the navigation charts. I am eager to hear about it. But first, tell me of your experience Mr. Eames." 

Suddenly this feels like a job interview. To his great shock, Arthur is indignant on Eames' behalf. 

"I've been diving since I was 15, technically trained since 18. I spend four years working on oil rigs before taking off on my own. I travel at my leisure and make a living off selling wreck artifacts to interested parties."

Arthur is surprised. He'd only ever encountered Eames with the Home Wreckers--a group of mostly suburban dads whose dive hobbies and adrenaline addictions resulted in garages full of artifacts stocked like mini-museums. He'd had no idea that that was just a fraction of Eames' diving life. 

"Interesting, Eames. As the owner of an energy conglomerate myself, I'm curious why you left that industry." 

Eames shrugs nonchalantly. 

"I was concerned about the lapsed safety conditions at one of the rigs where I was assigned. I complained, vigorously. But they ignored me. So I left." 

It takes balls to say something like that to a man who might very well do the same thing to his own employees for all any of us knows, Arthur thinks. No wonder Eames is so suspicious of Saito. 

"I'm very sorry to hear that, Eames," Saito responds, but it's impossible to judge his sincerity. 

\---

Ari comes down the next week when she has a day off at Surf N' Stuff. Arthur meets her in the marina's parking lot, suppressing a wince at her obvious discomfort over meeting someone like Saito. She's dressed in a ridiculous hodgepodge of office wear, mismatched skirt and blazer with a strange vintage scarf and out-dated shoes. Nevermind. Once she relaxes into herself, she'll charm the pants off of him. She always does. 

"Artie I think this is a terrible idea," she says, as she opens the hatchback of her car and lets Papa come bounding out. Arthur is too busy having his face licked to worry. 

"I didn't know you were bringing him!" 

"It was stupid. Who brings a dog to a job interview? He'll think I'm a lunatic." 

"It's not an interview. You're basically hired. I think he just wants to meet you for himself. And anyway, you probably have to figure out a food budget and all that stuff, right?"

"Oh god, I feel sick," she says. 

Arthur grabs her hand and squeezes it. 

"You'll be great, Ari. You're funny and smart. Nobody ever dislikes you. Just be yourself." 

"Arthur! I'm a loser. I didn't even go to college. What can I possibly say to relate to this dude?"

She's on the verge of panicking, so he does the only thing he can think of and asks Papa to perform a series of tricks for her amusement. It seems to work, as the tears threatening to spill over from her eyes are replaced with a melancholy kind of laughter. 

As he predicted, she needn't have worried. Arthur stands nervously outside on the companionway while she meets with Saito in the boat's communal area. But just a minute or two into the conversation, Saito is laughing and his eyes are twinkling, relaxed in a way Arthur hasn't seen him before now. Ari has a gift for people. There's no doubt about it.

Eames sidles up behind him, causing Arthur to startle when he says, "friend of yours?"

"My cousin, actually. I picked her to be the cook."

Eames raises an eyebrow. It had never occurred to Arthur until this moment that someone might object to Ari's hiring on account of nepotism. He feels put off balance by his own naivete. But he'll be damned if he lets Eames see that. And anyway, Dom had signed off in the blink of an eye and Saito seems charmed. It shouldn't matter at this point.

"Fuck off, Eames. Saito told Dom to hire someone, Dom passed the job on to me. I didn't bring it up until I was asked. What was I supposed to do, go around interviewing short-order cooks in Miami, when I've got a professional in my own damn family whom I trust not to blab about our plans ?"

"I don't judge, Arthur. That's really more your forte," Eames says and slips down the narrow passageway toward his room, leaving Arthur furious.

How dare Eames imply Arthur's scruples, what ones he has left anyway, are just plain old snobbery? Hasn't Arthur gone out of his way to tell Eames time and time again that he doesn't look down on his lack of education, just his greed. ... Greed which now Arthur apparently shares. Dammit!

He crouches against the wall and buries his face in Papa's thick fur, face hot and eyes stinging.

Maybe Eames is right and Arthur is being unfair to him. After all, how can he possibly claim to be the better man anymore? And, really, could he ever have done so? He'd never had to make a choice about proper handling of dive artifacts before Dom lost his tenure and, quite possibly, his mind. He hadn't even known how to dive before college. Who is he to say he wouldn't have done the same things Eames has if he'd gone the blue collar route and then been left in the lurch by an asshole corporation. Couldn't Arthur easily imagine his own father or mother having done the same back when he was a kid?

He remembers the first time the Cobbs's team had run into the Home Wreckers after he'd started working with Robbie--before their first kiss, but well into his schoolboy crush. They'd been diving the _Cobol_ and he and Robbie had spent two dives unsuccessfully trying to photograph some graffiti in what had once been the crew quarters. They were having trouble penetrating the wreck with all the necessary lighting and camera equipment fast enough to be able to actually take pictures before having to turn around and decompress.

They'd been having dinner and strategizing their next attempt when Eames had waltzed over, friendly as you please. Arthur had been suddenly overcome with nerves. He and Eames had continued their habit of teasing banter in the wake of Eames' aggressive flirtation the previous spring. But Arthur hadn't wanted to give Robbie the wrong idea. In fact, he'd been maybe a little embarrassingly eager to prove how little attraction he had to Eames.

He cringes now, face still pressed against Papa's flank, as he remembers what happened next.

Eames had offered advice for a new way to tie the equipment together and push it ahead of them through the corridors and stairways. He'd also pointed out a shortcut for their chosen path, one Arthur and Robbie wouldn't have been brave enough to use without someone else's encouragement.

Arthur had offered a shy "thanks," but Robbie had scoffed, "I guess a thief _would_ know the best ways to move around this wreck with a big haul. Tell me, are you available for consultations on wrecks _before_ you've looted the hell out of them, making it harder for serious professionals like me and Arthur."

At the time, Arthur had been been so touched by Robbie lumping the two of together as fellow academics that he hadn't devoted much thought to Eames' reaction, but he remembers the crumpled look on Eames' face before he'd turned and stalked off to the other side of the bar. It was ages before he'd spoken with Arthur again and Arthur couldn't recall Eames and Robbie ever exchanging another word.

Naturally, Eames' advice had worked like a charm the next morning, and Arthur knew Robbie had used the photographs from that trip in his thesis work.

Suddenly, all the praise Dom has been heaping all over Eames for the past week makes sense . He'd probably been offering the Cobbs helpful tips like that for years. Eames' shortcut had saved Robbie and Arthur 10 minutes of bottom time. To find a path like that and make sure it would be workable would have taken an extraordinary level of skill at both reading ship schematics and assessing underwater conditions, not to mention tremendous bravery.

And here he'd been treating Eames like a hired thug all this time when it was likely that he just wanted to help, overwhelmed by enthusiasm with talent to spare. It wasn't Eames' fault that he'd learned to dive for profit rather than scholarship. Fuck!

Just then Ari comes bounding out the door, smiling to crack her face in two. She gives him a not-so-secret thumbs up.

"Arthur, I find your cousin to be a most-excellent selection."

"I'm glad to hear it, sir," Arthur replies, still feeling awkwardly formal in his new boss's presence.

He and Ari grab some Cuban takeout and sit by the water. He throws a driftwood stick for Papa while she babbles excitedly about her plans for the adventure. If she notice how uncharictaristically quiet Arthur is, she doesn't comment on it.

\---

It's been three weeks and progress is scant. They need to head out soon, before the waters get too rough with the change of seasons, bringing visibility down to an unworkable level.

They're sitting around the common area, exchanging tidbits from Saito's great-great-grandfather's diary (written in Dutch, apparently for privacy reasons). Saito's had someone from his company translate the entries into both Japanese and English and they're pouring through them, each in his native language, looking for any hints that the trip could have veered from its pre-charted course. Saito suspects that the journal contains some clue, because his relative had intentionally left it behind with his wife, rather than taking it along on his journey to Indonesia.

Arthur can't make much sense of the portion of the diary he's been assigned. He's not sure if the translation is bad, or if great-great-grandpa Saito just wasn't terribly talented on the prose front. Most of the entries read more like a daily calendar than a proper journal.

"Saito if this hunt fails to yield any results, you could write a biography of your great-grandfather using this abundance of details," Eames pipes up from across the room.

"I'm not interested in such an undertaking at present, Mr. Eames. But perhaps if we do find the treasure, I could have something commissioned to accompany the collection."

Arthur rolls his eyes--Saito is always so damned formal. Eames catches him and smirks in response.

Arthur's been making a concerted effort to be less judgmental. In fact, he's been downright friendly.

He'd even let Eames take Papa for a walk when Ari brought him down a few days earlier. Naturally, Papa took to him immediately, giving Eames sloppy kisses and proffering his paw to shake over and over again.

"I notice that he occasionally breaks from his terse accounts of the day to describe the horrors of some Dutch dish or another that he'd encountered as part of his Imperial naval training as a youth. Does that strike anyone else as odd?"

"Yeah he does that in mine, too," Dom pipes up.

Arthur nods in assent as Eames stands, pulling a marker from his pocket.

"What I propose, is that these passages contain some sort of code," he says, writing the letters C O D E out on the window and underlining it three times.

"Hey, don't ruin the boat Saito has so generously let us use!" Dom objects, missing the forest for the trees.

"Jesus, Dom, who cares?" Arthur interjects. "This is the first breakthrough we've had in weeks."

"Please continue," Saito prompts, apparently not concerned about potential damage to his rented boat.

"It's erasable, innit?" Eames notes, then turns back to the window. "I'm not sure what exactly the code is, but these menu items are so out of place in the rest of the diary that I'm convinced they're telling us something, perhaps about the ship's itinerary or maybe its cargo."

Eames starts writing down ideas as Dom and Saito call them out.

But Arthur is dumbstruck. For the first time he suspects that Eames is smarter than him and it's both thrilling and painful--exciting because it in some way legitimizes the attraction he feels toward Eames in their best moments; awful because, try as he might, he's still having trouble letting go of the idea that he's the better man between the two of them.

A thread of jealousy winds its way through his mind and he glares down at his diary segment, willing it to give up its secrets to him and him alone.

\---

It takes eight long days and late nights and a lot of back-and-forth with Saito's assistant Tadashi in Tokyo, but they eventually figure out that each meal mentioned refers to a different shipping route. The routes are coded according to the home of his Dutch host and the type of alcohol paired with the dinner.

Arthur feels wrung out and exhausted, like he needs to sleep for a week just to recover from making sure that he'd put in the most hours--the last to bed each night and first awake every morning--in a quest to prove his importance to Saito and, especially, to Dom.

They've just finished a supper of take-out tacos from down the road and Dom is explaining a unique gas formulation with ridiculous enthusiasm. The mix was designed by an aquaintence of Eames' and Dom had flown to New Orleans to learn about his process and driven back with a trunk-load of tanks and a promise that this guy--Yusuf was his name--would visit the following week. Apparently they'll be able to stay under for much longer than diving with trimix or nitrox.

"We've got to test this on some shallower dives before we make any decisions on it," Arthur interjects. 

Cobb looks at him like he's the worst buzzkill on earth. He seems utterly unlike the careful professor Arthur had first met. Of course, he's been on a such a downward spiral in his approach to safety this past year that Arthur honestly can't say he's surprised by the reaction.

"I'll do it," he volunteers, afraid Dom won't do a thorough enough job if left in charge. He's too excited by the mix's promise. 

"Not on your own, you won't," Eames says, voice surprisingly grave.

"I'l take my boat and go down 30 feet. I can swim to the surface without using the regulator if I have to. It'll be fine." 

"Arthur, you're absolutely correct that this mix needs testing. Don't be daft and insist on not doing it properly."

Arthur knows Eames is right. He knows it. He can't criticize Dom's approach to safety and then do something nearly as stupid himself. He can't let any personal confusion and competitiveness he has about Eames affect his decision-making process right now. But he also can't let Eames take too much credit for testing the mix, either. It's petty and stupid, but Arthur is compelled to prove his necessity to the mission, and he feels this task should be squarely in his own wheelhouse. 

"OK yeah, you're right. I'll dive Yusuf's mix. You buddy me on air. You can monitor my behavior and I'll go over how it feels on land." 

A tiny frown mars Eames' handsome features

"You don't have to be the one at risk, Arthur. That's not fair." 

"It's my job. I'm the details guy. Anyway, I wouldn't trust anyone else's assessment but my own on this." 

"Nor me, if I'm being honest."

Arthur pauses. He has to respect Eames' concerns, even if he does feel like he's being pushed out of his job by the other man's brilliance.

"After my initial tests, we should all try it out first on land then in the water. But let's make sure it's good to begin with before we start looking for individual deviations. That OK?" 

"So when do you want to do this?"

"Tomorrow morning. We'll take my boat. I'll sleep here and we can drive over at dawn."

"Ta, Arthur. Well if you gentlemen don't mind, I'd best be off to bed if I'm to be up so early. Goodnight."

\---

Eames is rumpled-looking but alert on the drive over the next morning. Right off the bat, he again suggests that take turns using Yusuf's mix over a series of dives.

"No, because we need to see if there's a cumulative effect. We'll just do three dives, each more shallow than the previous. A normal recreational profile."

"No, we should start shallow and go deeper. If something goes really wrong, I want you to be able to swim to the surface if need be, at least the first time."

Arthur thinks this over. It's unusual to go deeper when you're more tired and have a higher buildup of nitrogen in your blood. On the other hand, he and Eames are accustomed to doing much deeper and more intense diving than this, experimental gas mixture aside. So it probably won't make a difference.

"Yeah OK. Let's start at 30, double it and then go to recreational limits."

"Provided we don't run afoul of any problems."

"He's your friend, Eames. Why are you so concerned? Don't you trust him?"

"He's not really my mate. He's just a fellow I've bought refills from on occasion. Not this experimental nonsense. Proper mixes, ones my meter knows how to read."

"So ... you don't trust him? Why'd you recommend him then? Should I be concerned?"

Arthur feels a nervous little itch at the back of his throat.

"I mean obviously I trust him enough to fill my tanks when I'm diving in the Gulf. I just have no experience with his homespun varieties. I haven't the least idea what this will be like."

Arthur frowns. He's more nervous now that he's hearing Eames' straight shooting instead of Dom's giddy enthusiasm. But what's he going to do? It has to be done. And as he'd told Eames the night before, this kind of work is part of his self-appointed role on the team. Now that Eames is all Mr. Brilliant Code Cracker, it's more necessary than ever for Arthur to prove himself useful and earn his keep.

Arthur steers his boat to a shallow-but-not-spectacular reef near a drop-off, so that they won't have to move when they need to go deeper on subsequent dives. They gear up quickly, not needing the heavy double tanks or pony bottles of oxygen that they'd normally take on a deep-water recovery dives with decompression stops. Arthur doesn't even bother with a wetsuit, just sticking with board shorts and a rashguard. Eames wears a neoprene vest and a pair of borderline-obscene short trunks. Arthur has to make an effort to stop his eyes from wandering, but he does sneak a peek when Eames bends over to adjust some straps on his backplate.

They swim lazily around the reef, which is beautiful in spite of damage from too many anchors and bottom scrapes.

Arthur hasn't been on a recreational dive with another person since he and Robert had split. Most of his colleagues from the university had either looked down on reef diving or found it boring. But Robert had come to undersea archeology from a privileged youth full of twice-yearly tropical vacations and was always coaxing Arthur away for a dive trip in the Keys or at one of the freshwater spring-fed caves in the area.

But Eames seems to have as much enthusiasm for hovering over a piece of coral looking for seahorses and interesting nudibranchs as he does for riffling through wrecks in search of china or artwork to sell. Arthur can almost _see_ him smiling around his regulator and his eyes are crinkled in a friendly way behind his mask. Arthur remembers Eames' confidence during their first meeting that Arthur would have a good time if they went under together. Turns out he was right all along. Eames' easygoing nature translates perfectly to recreational diving, enough to make Arthur wonder why he's not working as an instructor.

He asks Eames when they're back on board the boat for a surface interval before going deeper.

"Let's not get ahead of ourselves Arthur. How about you tell me what you're feeling. Anything out of the ordinary?"

Arthur waives his hand, "I feel fine. Totally normal. A bit sleepy perhaps, but it's still before 7 a.m. and we've had one hell of a week."

"That we have," Eames responds, and somehow produces a penlight that he shines into Arthur's eyes.

"Isn't that perhaps a bit too thorough?" Arthur asks, although, in truth, he's impressed.

"Now that's something I never thought I'd hear the great and powerful Arthur say aloud."

"Hardly great or powerful these days, if ever at all," Arthur replies, more honestly than intended. "More like confused and throwing his life away."

Eames gives him a grim smile that seems perhaps a little too knowing.

"Well I guess that's what we all are in this business, forever perched on the knife's edge of utter failure and brilliant success. If we manage to pull this job off, I'm sure you'll have plenty of opportunities."

"What about you?"

"What about me?"

"Don't you want some glorious opportunities of your own coming out of this?"

Eames shrugs.

"Dunno. I'm at peace with my life, even if some people" he looks pointedly at Arthur "might consider me a loser. It's a damn sight better than diving oil rigs, I promise you."

"Hey now, I have never called you a loser. A scoundrel maybe, a thief, possibly, but never a loser."

Eames cuffs his shoulder in a friendly way and hops up to check his gear.

For their second dive they go over the ledge, but just slightly, hovering at about 60 feet. Arthur isn't totally sure, but he thinks that Eames might actually stay at _exactly_ 60 feet--no more, no less--the entire time, as he weaves in and out of crevasses in the reef wall. Buoyancy control is a must in their line of work, but even for a professional, Eames' skill is nothing short of extraordinary. Arthur marvels yet again that he'd never noticed and tips an imaginary cap to Dom for paying attention to something that Arthur had missed, instead of their usual other way around.

They do a safety stop for three minutes and swim up the anchor line. Arthur feels a bit more tired than he should, but not totally worn out. It's tough to say if he's slightly out of shape from spending too much time holed up doing research, or if this is an effect of the new gas mix.

He mentions it to Eames, who looks alarmed.

"Perhaps we should call off the third trip," he says, shining his penlight in Arthur's eyes long enough to cause discomfort.

"Don't be ridiculous. Even if it is caused by the mix, a small level of exhaustion is something that can easily be compensated for by increasing economy of movement and perhaps hanging an extra canister of oxygen at the bottom to use on the way up."

Eames shushes Arthur, reaches forward and places two fingers on the side of his neck, timing his pulse with his dive computer.

"Your heart rate is elevated compared to last time, but not dangerously so. It's comparable to having just exerted yourself a bit more than usual."

Arthur bites his lip. He's slightly nervous. But his determination to see this project through is still winning out against his apprehension.

"Let's do it. We'll stay close to the anchor line and I promise to give you the signal if I feel anything beyond this slight sluggishness."

They swim around in a slow circle, away from the wall and back again, descending slowly to 120 feet. Arthur is tired. He feels like he's coming down with a cold. Perhaps he is and all this worry is for nothing. He'd certainly been working a grueling enough schedule while they cracked the coded diary and found their target ship's new route to have worn down his immune system. The dive is quite dull this time, as they're just running out the clock, too nervous to stray far from the anchor line. Eames is hovering on Arthur's shoulder, much closer than on either of the previous dives. Arthur doesn't know whether to be touched by his concern or irritated by his lack of faith. 

When time's up they ascend, painfully slowly, hand-over-hand up the line. Arthur is eager to have this all be over and done with so he can take a nap.

Then, suddenly, when they break the surface, everything about the morning becomes painfully, hysterically funny. Arthur is laughing like a  loon, all the tension and caution of monitoring himself underwater broken. Eames is eyeing him cautiously.

"What's funny?"

"I'm just ... I don't know ... relieved, I guess?" Arthur manages to spit out between fits of laughter.

Eames practically hauls him on board the boat--his own fucking boat!--and is monitoring his heart rate and pinching his skin and shining that damned light into his face in such quick succession that Arthur doesn't quote know how to react, beyond more giggling. There was something just utterly gut-busting about Eames, to whom he hadn't always been very nice, showing such concern about Arthur's well-being when everything was obviously fine ...

Eames is shoving a regulator into Arthur's mouth.

"Oxygen," he says, with clipped proficiency. "Breath deeply please."

Arthur wants to protest, but he inhales before talking and the ... whatsit ... oxygen just feels so damn _good_. It sets his limbs tingling and his chest feels warm. So warm that he realizes that he'd been shivering. That strikes him anew as hilarious, but the pressure of Eames' hand holding up his head and the bright feeling of the oxygen coursing through his body prevent him from bursting into laughter again.

"Arthur, listen to me, but don't speak, OK?" Eames asks, voice sure but eyes worried. "Do you have a medical kit on board?"

Arthur thinks and thinks. He's not sure how much time is passing while he tries to recall the answer. He remembers  packing up a red box full of gear ages ago, back when he'd first inherited the boat from his grandfather. Where did he put it? Had he updated it since then? He must have. Arthur is normally a very responsible person. But he can't remember. Eventually he nods, flailing his hands toward the cabin to direct Eames, who lowers him gently to the deck. He claps to get the other man's attention and performs a clumsy pantomime directing him to look under the sink in the tiny galley.

His head feels slightly clearer when Eames returns and wraps him in a shiny blanket. Ohhhh ... that's nice.

He dozes for a bit and then feels Eames lifting his head again and pulling the regulator out of his mouth.

"Arthur, do you feel sick? Do you think you can drink something for me?"

Arthur considers the question and nods once.

Eames brings a bottle to his lips and Arthur sucks a cold, sweet taste into his mouth. It's nice. It makes him feel awake. He drinks more.

"Let's take it slow, shall we?" Eames asks, pulling the bottle away and putting the regulator back in its place.

Eames moves them across the deck, so he's cradling Arthur's body against his own. It occurs to Arthur that he's always wanted to know what this might feel like, but he never thought it would happen and definitely not under these circumstances. Arthur gropes for the bottle and Eames lets him finish it. Gatorade. That's the name of that taste, Arthur remembers. He accepts the oxygen again and slumps back against Eames, who strokes his hair rhythmically.

He dozes again and is rousted when Eames gets up and leans Arthur against the side of the boat. Arthur can feel Eames' fingers on his neck to take his pulse and then forcing his eyes open to shine the light into them again. His face looks softer now. Less panicked. Arthur is alert enough to understand what's happening now. He pops the regulator out.

"I feel OK," he says. "Just tired."

"Does anything hurt? Even the tiniest ache?"

"No. Nothing ever hurt. I promise. I don't think I'm bent. I just think I had a bad reaction to that mix."

Eames frowns, wrinkles appearing between his eyes.

"I think I should take you to hospital."

"No, no seriously, I'm fine. We won't use the gas. I'll sleep it off. No need to try explaining the use of an experimental mix to any professionals."

"I almost called the Coast Guard, Arthur. That was bloody terrifying."

"I'm glad you didn't. Let's just rest for a bit. Is there more Gatorade?"

Eames has a stack of bottles nearby and Arthur downs one and a half before Eames forces him to slow down.

He's starting to realize what a close call he may have just had. The terrified look on Eames' face is coming back to him in bits and pieces. And if that weren't enough, the solicitous responses to his every movement tell Arthur that the other man had been scared out of his wits.

"Do you think I could go lie down in the cabin?" he asks.

Eames follows him down the ladder and performs another series of checks while Arthur sprawls across the mattress in his room. 

"Do you think you'll be OK on your own if I take us back?" 

Arthur wants to assent. He really, really does. But instead he finds himself asking Eames to stay. 

"Just for a while. Just in case."

"Should I call Dominic?" Eames asks. "Will he be concerned?"

"It's fine. He won't notice yet," Arthur answers. 

All this thinking is compounding Arthur's exhaustion. He wants more than anything to fall back asleep, but he's shaken up enough that he needs another person around to watch over him. 

"Please just ... I'm kinda freaked out right now," he admits. 

Eames's face crumples the tiniest bit and he moves to sit next to Arthur on the bed. Arthur automatically curls his body toward Eames', not touching, but close enough to feel his body heat. Eames reaches out and runs his fingers through Arthur's hair. It should be embarrassing, being soothed like a child after a nightmare. It probably will be soon enough. But for now, Arthur luxuriates in the touch, comforted that someone as capable as Eames is looking out for him.

When he wakes, the cabin is flooded with sunlight and stiflingly hot. Eames is stretched out on a towel on the floor next to him, back bare and head pillowed on his arms. What Arthur can see of his sleeping face  is slack and lovely, red lips slightly chapped and parted for breath. His skin glows in the midday sun, throwing his tattoos into stark relief. The swell of his ass in those too-short-and-too-tight swimming trunks is unreal. It is deeply unfair that Arthur can't allow himself to touch it. 

He drifts off again, mulling over the injustice of Eames being so gorgeous, and so competent, and yet not at all boyfriend material. 

Arthur wakes again sweaty and loose, face mashed into his pillows and a raging erection is pressed into the mattress. His first thought is relief that his circulatory system seems to be working just fine. His second is fear that Eames will see the state Arthur's gotten himself into, especially embarrassing considering he'd fallen asleep thinking about running his hands all over Eames' luscious body.

Luckily, when Arthur peeks over the edge of his bed, Eames is no longer stretched out on the floor. He stands on shaky legs and looks out the porthole. They're still anchored out at sea, apparently. 

Without giving himself much time to think it over, he scurries up the ladder and dives over the side of the boat, letting the ocean wash his sticky skin and the shock of the water get rid of his boner. 

"Oi, Arthur! What the hell?" Eames' face appears at the side of the boat. "Have you gone mental?"

Arthur treads water alongside the hull for a moment and then climbs the ladder back onboard. 

"Sorry, I just woke up all hot and sweaty and couldn't stand another second without cooling off."

Eames frowns.

"You really ought to have let me take your pulse again before doing something like that," he says. "But I suppose I'm heartened that you were able to move so quickly and without assistance ... . So, how do you feel now that you're refreshed."

"Thirsty," Arthur replies. "And angry." 

He's moved out of the panicky stage of fright and into a hard-edged angry fear of what might have been. He's eager to reject this whole business of new gas mixes. But he catches a hurt look fleeting across Eames' face, and amends himself quickly.

"Not mad at you. Jesus no. I'm ... I'm so fucking grateful Eames. You might have saved my life. ... I ... I can't thank you enough." 

"That was really fucking terrifying Arthur."

"Thank you." 

"Please, don't mention it. That's why I was here. Are you sure you feel up to snuff? Let's do another pulse and pupil check, shall we?"

As soon as they've determined that Arthur is back to normal, Eames fetches him another Gatorade and a couple of granola bars.

"We ought to head back in," he says. "Although I might go for a swim myself."

"There's a shower," Arthur says. "It's just a bag of fresh water warmed by the sun, but it will probably feel better on your skin that adding another layer of salt. I'm already getting itchy."

Eames considers it.

"You should use it. You're the one in recovery."

"We could share," Arthur says, and then is immediately horrified by his suggestion. He can't even begin to think what possessed him to voice such an idea. 

Eames gives him a curious look, but he does follow Arthur to the stern where his homemade camp shower is rigged. They pass a bar of soap quickly back and forth and are too polite about yielding positions under the sprinkle of water to accidentally brush against each other.

Eames looks incredible and Arthur can't help imagining them sharing a shower under other, sexier circumstances, cleaning up after a swim and a fuck, drying off naked on deck afterward ... . Oh God, he has to stop thinking this way or the rest of this project is going to be an extremely long case of blue balls. 

\---

Code cracked and experimental gas rejected, the Arthur, Dom and Eames enter the final preparation stages before flying to Japan and embarking on the mission proper. Ariadne has taken leave from her job, stashed Papa with Arthur's parents and flown to Tokyo, where she and Tadashi are purchasing supplies and loading them onto Saito's real boat, the _Proclus_ , the one that's fully equipped for a search-and-recovery job. Yusuf is out there as well, testing the boat's compressors for making trimix to be sure they're up to standard. 

He'd been nothing but apologetic about Arthur's bad reaction to his custom blend, offering up half his share to the group as a demonstration of goodwill. He'd flown immediately to Florida and undertaken quality testing measures on the remaining tanks of gas and given Arthur a possibly too-thorough medical check up. 

Yusuf's horror at the situation had gone a long way toward Arthur deciding to trust his regular mixes, in spite of the awfulness of the experimental one. Nevertheless, his first dive testing the trimex had been a little more nerve-wracking than he cared to admit, something Eames must have known without saying, because he'd stuck to Arthur like glue the entire time and asked him far too many questions after they'd surfaced. 

\---

Despite knowing the ship's secret route and the number of days it had been out of port before going down, they've been at sea three weeks and still haven't located the wreck. 

Arthur, Eames and Cobb dive twice a day, separating and combing the sea floor in a grid, looking for signs of wreckage that match their target. Between dives they eat like ravenous beasts and at night they head to bed embarrassingly early after a few hands of cards or yet another walk-through of their mission profile with Saito. 

It should be boring to the point of madness. But Arthur is so focused on getting it right, on not letting this opportunity and access to resources pass him by, that he's content to just take each day as it comes. He's reminded of an article he once read about elite marathon runners and their quiet, structured lives, which are entirely focused around training. He couldn't exist like this for the rest of his life, but the simple austerity is strangely comforting for the time being. 

Of course, when Dom emerges, successful, one morning, the monastic lifestyle doesn't extend so far that they don't take the afternoon off and celebrate with some serious Champagne. Eames turns on the never-used stereo system and waltzes Ari around the deck to some kind of string quartet. Then he grabs Arthur's hands and attempts to whirl him off as well. But Arthur's unprepared, and just a bit tipsy, and they both end up sprawled on their backs, laughter curling off into the wind.

The next morning the revelry has worn off entirely. Sure, they've found the ship. But now they have the dangerous job of figuring out how to get inside it without being trapped under falling timbers and rotting storage boxes, or getting their reel lines tangled in any collapsed spaces. They spend the day combing over drawings of the ship, trying to determine the best routes for discovering the treasures that hopefully wait in its belly. 

It's slow going. Arthur is naturally cautious and takes twice as long to penetrate any area where he's assigned leadership of the team. Eames is startlingly fast. But, even so, Arthur never feels unsafe with him. The man just seems to have a gift for understanding structure and knowing which spaces should and shouldn't be entered. He probably should have been an engineer or something. Cobb is eager to the point of recklessness and more than once Arthur and Eames are put in the uncomfortable position of refusing to follow him into an opening that looks too risky. 

Arthur doesn't understand whether its a function of Cobb's desperation now that he's so close to accomplishing his goal of post-academic financial freedom, or if it's due to Eames' easy confidence underwater, but he's somehow come to trust his former rival more than his mentor. He brings it up to Ari one night in their shared cabin. (Eames and Yusuf are sharing as well, Cobb and Saito eachget their own.) But she misunderstands it as Arthur confessing to a crush.

"It's not about that, Ari. It's ... I feel like I'm at a crossroads. Since I was 18, I've spent my whole life first trying to impress Dom and then trying to help him. He's loomed so large. It's shaking me up to see that challenged. It's not about Eames. It could be anyone." 

"All true, I'm sure. But if you're trying to convince me that you're not attracted to him, then no dice."

"Well obviously he's disgustingly hot. I'm not blind. But it's not like I think there's anything real between us. He's a terrible flirt. I've seen it for years. He's not boyfriend material and I'm done with the whole casual sex thing, so it doesn't really matter anyway." 

"If you say so," Ari yawns, sounding unconvinced.

On the ninth day, Arthur notices an anomaly in the wooden baseboards in what they think is the captain's stateroom, where Saito's great-great-grandfather had slept. Back on board the _Proclus_ , he pulls out the drawings and pours over them, refusing to answer any questions until he's puzzled this out. 

"I think there's a trap door in the big stateroom," he says. "Maybe what we're looking for is somewhere down there."

They bring down crowbars and manage to pry the floorboards up. But it's so full of sediment afterward that they avoid the wreck for a whole day, waiting for the visibility to improve as things settle. 

Penetrating the trap door is glacially slow, even with Eames in the lead, because they have no drawings or descriptions from which to plan their route. It's just a matter of shining their lights around and examining their surroundings to find a path forward into the gloom. 

One day Eames finds a porcelain cup and what looks like a small coin, and Arthur is mentally doing cartwheels as they inch back into the captain's cabin. But their luck has run out and somehow Eames gets tangled in the reel they'd been using to mark their path. Dom flails around trying to help, but only manages to create new knots and tie Eames up even tighter. 

Arthur fights the panic rising in his gut. They've timed their dives with less than ten minutes of gas to spare. If he can't solve this situation soon, Eames will suck his tank dry. He motions for Dom to go up and start his deco, writing a note on Dom's slate to lower a couple of tanks of oxygen to deco depth as soon he gets on board. Arthur and Eames are probably going to have to put in as much extra time decompressing as possible.

Then Arthur pulls out his knife and begins methodically cutting the line, fighting the urge to swim away and leave Eames to disentangle himself, hoping the process doesn't take so long that he's forced to choose between his own gas supply and Eames' safety. For his part, Eames remains utterly still, helping Arthur by not thrashing around as Dom had done. 

Arthur manages to free him with just three minutes left to exit the ship. He gives Eames the OK sign and gestures for him to lead their way out, being the faster of the two. As they rush toward the exit, Arthur tries to keep his breathing as shallow as possible. He hears his pulse thundering in his ears and tries to will it back to calmness. If they're not extraordinarily careful, but also extremely fast, either one of them could get the bends. Part of him can't believe that he put his life and safety at risk for Eames. The other part wouldn't have done it any other way, especially considering that Eames had saved his own ass back in Florida. 

They emerge from the ship and Arthur has to fight himself not to swim up as hard as he can. That's how you get bent. That's how you end up spending the weekend in a decompression chamber. That's how you get fucking killed. 

He grabs Eames' ankle to slow him down as well and reaches out to unhook the regulator on Eames' pony bottle, pushing it toward Eames' face before the other man runs out of trimix. Arthur's own tank is dangerously low and he figures Eames must have used even more more in his panic at being trapped. He switches to his own emergency oxygen as well and tries to keep his pace as slow as possible as they climb hand-over-hand up the anchor line. 

When they arrive at the deco stop, Arthur can see the relief written all over Dom's face, even through his mask. Arthur signals Eames not to stop breathing the pony bottles until they're finished, buying more time for Dom to drop fresh oxygen down for them as soon as its safe for him to go up. 

Deco is never fun at the best of times. Hanging on a line in the blackness of the ocean is nothing to write home about. But when his heart is racing and he's fighting all of his instincts just to stay still and keep his breathing even, Arthur actually thinks it's torture. He asks Eames if he's OK so many times that he's pretty sure he can see the other man's eyes rolling from inside his mask. 

When Dom's time runs out and he starts ascending again, Arthur makes him leave his pony bottle behind, just in case. By this point, he and Eames have switched from their own emergency bottles to the oxygen tanks that were waiting for them on the anchor line all along. Arthur figures they're going to need to stay down an extra 45 minutes, just to be safe, and they're going to need every square inch of oxygen they can get, just in case Dom isn't able to get a fresh set of tanks down in time. 

He's starting to worry about the oxygen they've got left--reserving Dom's pony bottle for them to buddy breathe on the swim up, if necessary--when Arthur sees bubbles coming down the anchor line. Oh shit, if Dom is coming back down, then he's fucked. Surely with all his experience he knows better than to do something so stupid, so likely to result in the bends. 

But it's Yusuf!

He's wearing's a fresh set of double oxygen tanks and carrying two singles down the line with him as well. Arthur utterly forgives any lingering mistrust over the experimental gas disaster. Yusuf is saving their asses but good. The three of them linger on the line breathing comfortably. Arthur is finally able to relax now that there's no impending oxygen shortage. 

When they finally, _finally_ , make it back on board, Arthur pulls off his gear as fast as he can manage and rushes over to check that Eames is OK. He's starfished on the deck, accepting a fresh bottle of oxygen from Saito. Ari pushes Arthur down next to him and covers his face with a second oxygen mask. He sees that her eyes are rimmed with red and her hands are shaky. 

"It's OK, Ari. It's OK," he repeats through the plastic seal around his mouth. 

It should have been a cause for celebration, but instead Arthur and Eames are carted off to the infirmary. As soon as Yusuf's on board and free of gear, he strips them bare, covers them with thermal blankets and hooks them up to IVs full of fluids. 

Arthur can't even bother being scared anymore. He's just so damned relieved that they both made it out of there. He doesn't care if he ever dives again. That's not true. He'd miss the pretty stuff--the reefs, the tropical fish. But he's not sure he cares if he ever goes into another deep wreck. His degree is abandoned and hopefully his fortune is now made. Let Cobb pull the stuff off the bottom. He's done. 

"It's fine darling, you don't have to go," Eames says, and grabs Arthur's hand across the distance between their two cots.

Arthur realizes, belatedly, that he's been speaking out loud.

"I don't want you to go, either," he adds. "Please don't go ... "

Eames squeezes his hand. Arthur's not sure what it means, but it's good enough for now to know he's been heard. 

And then Yusuf is back, shining lights in their eyes and taking their pulses. 

"Thank you," Arthur croaks at him, mouth parched. 

After a couple of hours of careful monitoring, Arthur and Eames are allowed to throw on some sweats and sit around the work table while the team comes up with a contingency plan. 

Ari absolutely puts her foot down at the idea of Arthur going back down again. Not that Arthur needs any convincing right now. 

He can tell that Dom is angry, but too afraid to say anything. It's written all over his face. Arthur knows that he's calculating the loss to his share if they have to bring more divers in on the mission. Bastard. They wouldn't have been in nearly such a damned mess down there if Dom hadn't panicked and turned a single tangle into a hopeless series of knots. And now he has the nerve to guilt trip Arthur and Eames about not wanting to return to the site of their very, _very_ , close call. 

Once again Yusuf saves the day by volunteering to help Dom recover the artifacts in exchange for getting his full share back, but with the caveat that they get Eames and Arthur to a hospital with a decompression chamber, just in case. 

"It's better safe than sorry," he tells Saito. "These things can take time to show symptoms and I'd rather get a bloke in proper professional care now than try to help him when he's in agonizing pain a few hours from now."

Saito assents and requests an evacuation from the Maritime Safety Agency.

Arthur isn't exactly thrilled about the idea of being poked and prodded any more, nor about the distinct possibility of spending a long time in a barometric chamber. But it's worth it not to have to descend to the wreck again. He feels bile rise in his throat at the very thought of spending any more time on the other side of that trap door.

And he knows himself well enough to recognize the risk that spending too much time around a pouting, desperate Dom could put him right back in that tight space out of a combination of pity and eagerness for approval. 

Unbelievably, Arthur falls back asleep on the helicopter ride, Eames' hand once again clutched in his own. He wakes when they're separated, each being rolled off into the depths of emergency services. Tadashi, Saito's Johnny-on-the-spot assistant is already at the hospital and he appears to be throwing his weight around. Yusuf had given them a detailed list of everything he'd done and Arthur shoves it in Tadashi's direction, hoping to help expedite the process.  

It doesn't seem to do much good though, because the doctors continue the regimen of oxygen and intravenous fluids for what feels like ages, although Arthur's dive computer--still on his wrist in case they need to examine the exact profile of their disastrous dive--says it's just shy of two hours. Arthur has never cared for hospitals and he's unable to fall back asleep, made anxious by the emergency noises going on just outside his curtain. 

He wants to see Eames and be reassured that he's still OK. But they're separated. He's not sure he trusts Tadashi to tell him if Eames' condition changes, for fear of elevating Arthur's heart rate or causing stress. 

Finally, the doctor decides that it's better safe than sorry, despite the lack of symptoms, and has Arthur wheeled down to the hyperbaric chamber for a full 24-hour stay. Arthur's never been afraid of confined spaces, but the potential for boredom weighs heavy on his mind. The nurse assures him that there's a DVD player and a selection of magazines inside. But all he can think about is that he has to put in more than 12 times the number of hours he'd just sat in his hospital bed. He's afraid he'll be one of those people who freaks out and starts banging on the glass, crying and begging to be let out before the time is up. 

But when he gets to the room, it turns out there are multiple beds to a single chamber and Eames is already inside. 

"I'm going to pick the first film, Arthur, and there's nothing you can do about it," he calls out the open door.

Arthur is floded with relief. Eames is OK. They're going to get through this together. Maybe he can even manage to talk about all the feelings that are roiling around inside of him right now. He's about to jump into the chamber himself when the doctor stops him.

"No outside materials. This gown and these slippers. That's all. No computer. No underwear. We'll keep your things safe in this locker." 

Arthur gets a glimpse of himself in the bathroom mirror when he's changing and is properly horrified. His hair is sticking up sideways and crusted with salt. He has circles as dark as bruises under his eyes. He thought he'd been getting tan on this trip, but he looks wan and sallow right now. Ugh. Now he's going to spend the entire day wishing for a shower. 

At least there's a bathroom in there. He's heard of people having to hold it or pee in a plastic container, something he'd almost certainly have to resort to given the number of IVs he's had today. 

He feels far too close to bare walking into the chamber in a poorly tied gown and surgical slippers. It's true that Eames may have seen him naked earlier when Yusuf forced them to strip down. But Arthur had been too out of it to think to get a look at Eames and he suspects that the same was true for the other man.

Naturally, Eames somehow looks completely at home already, gown artfully arranged as he's stretched out on his cot and fiddling with the remote. Arthur has never felt less attractive in his life. 

"I picked _Raising Arizona_. That acceptable to you?"

"Sure whatever," Arthur shrugs and makes a beeline for the bathroom where he desperately tries to smooth his hair into some semblance of normal. 

Eames grins at him when Arthur returns and flops gracelessly down on his own cot. 

"Don't get me wrong, I'm extremely grateful to be alive and probably well, but this sucks," Arthur says. 

Eames' face turns serious. 

"Thank you ... for cutting me free. Some people would have left me there."

"You'd already done the same for me." 

"Not really the same. I wasn't actually in any danger myself that time."

"Anyway, it's just what you do, isn't it? It wouldn't have been so bad if Dom hadn't fouled up the line so much."

"Are you cross with him?"

"Maybe. I'm not sure. I'm certainly questioning my own sanity for having given up so much for him. I'm basically a moron."

Eames sits up. 

"You're not a moron."

"An idiot at least. Robbie was right. He may be a douche, but he was right that I was stupid to run off and follow Dom like a lost puppy."

"I think loyalty is an admirable quality. Even scoundrels value it, you know," Eames says, winking.

Arthur offers a tiny smile.

"And you don't have to call your ex names on my account. I was wrong to criticize him to you before. It's not my place. I've a big mouth."

"No, you were right. I've been thinking a lot about how he treated you, how he treated me, how he treated everyone ... . I mean he accepted a job halfway around the world and never even thought to mention it to me until it was a done deal. Not that I'd have expected him to stay. But after two and a half years together, I figured I'd be worth a head's up ... "

They sit silent for what feels like an hour but is probably closer to 15 minutes. 

"I'm sorry that I've never been as nice to you as you deserve, Eames. I'm an asshole, too."

Eames waives him off. 

"You saved my life, you worked harder on this project than anyone else but me, you found the code, you navigated the ship with such ease I'd swear you were part merman ... and I treated you like a loser because you like doing this for fun instead of study. That is so monumentally petty." 

"Well you saved my life in turn, and my need was much greater. And you had my back in arguments with Dom. And you let me play with your delightful dog. ... And your eyes crinkle up when you smile in such a way that it's more-or-less impossible to stay cross with you." 

"You think you can flirt your way out of every argument," Arthur responds, laughing. "It used to make me crazy. But now I think it's kind of adorable." 

Their conversation is derailed by a funny scene in the movie. Arthur starts to actually drift off as he watches. He's not sure how he can still be sleepy after all the resting he's been doing, but he's not going to complain. Anything to eat up the time they're stuck in here.

He wakes a few hours later and Eames is quietly snoring. Arthur tiptoes to use the bathroom and selects another DVD from the shelf. _Clue_ this time. It takes a few tries to get the audio set on English and he's exhausted anew by the time the movie is playing properly. 

He wakes to the sound of panic and immediately fears that Eames has been hit with delayed bends. But he's asleep, whimpering and breathing harshly. Arthur closes the distance between them and touches Eames' shoulder. When it doesn't work, he gently shakes Eames, not wanting to startle him too much, considering they're trapped in a fairly confined space for another--Arthur checks the countdown clock over the door--16 hours.

"Eames, Eames wake up. You're having a dream. It's OK. Eames, Eames ... "

Eames sits up with a start. He's covered in a sheen of sweat and his face is flushed. He grabs Arthurs hand and squeezes it hard. 

"It's OK. It was just a dream. You're fine. We're in Japan, in a hyperbaric chamber. Everything's going to be all right," Arthur soothes. 

Eames face relaxes somewhat, but he retains his iron grip on Arthur's hand. 

"That was ... I was still ... We were ... ." 

His voice is shaky and he can't complete a sentence, but Arthur's pretty sure he knows what Eames was dreaming anyway. He reaches out his free hand and strokes Eames' brow, remembering what  comfort it had been when he was suffering his own ordeal. Slowly Eames' breathing evens out, but his eyes stay firmly open. He's probably too afraid of returning to the dream to let himself sleep again. Arthur is so exhausted, but he stays glued to Eames' side, eventually scratching through his scalp and then rubbing gentle circles on his neck. He doesn't even think about how weird this is--well maybe a little. It just feels so right to comfort Eames in return. 

He must drift off though, because he wakes up scrunched at Eames' feet, one hand still clasping Eames' the other wrapped around his ankle. He shifts, so Eames knows he's awake. 

"I am so sorry. Are you OK? Are your legs totally asleep?"

He moves to stand, but Eames rolls to the side and pats the sliver of open space in the cot. It's the craziest thing in the world, but Arthur lies down next to him, tangling their legs together so they can find a precarious balance on the tiny bed. 

Eames presses his face into Arthur's shoulder and whispers, "I'm sorry." 

"Nothing to apologize for," Arthur replies and ghosts his fingers across the shell of Eames' ear before settling his arm around Eames' shoulder. "I think we're operating well outside normal conditions right now. I'd say anything goes." 

Eames relaxes and they float quietly for a while on the border between sleep and consciousness, wrapped around each other like lovers, even though they've never shared so much as a drinking straw.

Arthur knows he should put a stop to whatever is happening here, but he just can't bring himself to do anything but snuggle closer. Eames has been with Arthur through the two most terrifying occasions of his life. He feels like they're bound together through some sort of trust born of mutual post-traumatic stress. 

Eventually, Eames tilts his chin up and offers a small smile.

"Really? _Anything_ goes? Is that a 'what happens in the hyperbaric chamber stays in the hyperbaric chamber' kind of offer?"

Arthur pulls back so far that he actually rolls right out of bed. 

"I guess that's a no then," Eames responds. 

"Eames there are people _watching us_ ," Arthur says. 

"I honestly don't even care anymore after my humiliating little outburst earlier," Eames responds, blushing. 

"And anyway, I'm not ... I don't do the whole casual thing. It doesn't work out for me, oh, ever. And I know you. You're the world's biggest flirt. You're not looking for a boyfriend. You're not a commitment guy. You're looking for a way to pass the time in here."

"You can just fuck right off," Eames spits out. 

Arthur is dumbstruck. 

"It's the same thing all over again," Eames says. "You just make assumptions about the kind of person I am based on nothing. Less than nothing." 

"Eames you basically threw yourself at me the first time we met." 

"First off, that was just casual flirting. I wasn't seriously trying to chat you up. It was a laugh. What's more, it was more than five years ago, Arthur. I was 23, now I'm nearly 30. Even if I had been seriously trying to get in your kit back then, can't you accept the possibility that I could have changed?"

Arthur feels stung, called out on his snobbery yet again. He crawls back into his own cot and turns to face Eames across the gap between them. 

"I guess I've been unfair … as usual."

"Indeed you have." 

"I ... I just never thought you were serious." 

The pause grows uncomfortable as Arthur waits for Eames to confirm or deny his intentions. But he says nothing.

"So ... are you? ... Or should I say _were_ you?"

Eames is blushing again. 

"Arthur, if you want me to promise that we're going to grow old together, obviously I'm not able to do that. But if you want me to prove that I trust you, that you can trust me in turn, that I can reveal myself to you and that you can be yourself with me, well haven't I done all that already?"

"Well," Arthur confesses. "I have been harboring the tiniest crush on you for the past few weeks, probably longer if I force myself to think about it. ... But I didn't ... let myself think about it, I mean." 

"Soooooo ... " Eames says, as he slowly gets out of bed and closes the distance between them, sitting on the edge of Arthur's cot. "What does this mean?"

"I don't know," Arthur says, reaching up to stroke Eames' hair. "I think this certainly counts as the strangest possible start to a relationship I'm ever likely to experience." 

Eames bites his lip. It's irresistible. 

"Can I kiss you," Arthur asks, sitting up so they're face to face. 

Eames nods solemnly. 

The kiss is everything Arthur had secretly hoped it would be, in spite of how wrong he was about everything leading up to it, all the terrible assumptions he'd made about Eames. Before he can get lost in it, Arthur pulls back, "I'm so sorry for being such an idiot and an asshole," he says. 

"I can think of a lot of ways you can make it up to me," Eames replies, kissing him again. 

It turns out that making out like desperate teenagers can only pass so much time when you're stuck in a hyperbaric chamber under the watchful eyes of a team of Japanese doctors. Eames suggests that they adjourn to the tiny bathroom before they die of blue balls. But Arthur declines. 

"I don't want our first time to be like that," he says. "I'm a romantic."

Eames rolls his eyes, but he smiles fondly.

"I'd always feel bad about it, for as long as we were together. I want to get out of here and splurge on a hotel we can't actually afford until we get our cuts from Saito. Then I want get you into the shower and soak you and scrub you until every trace of this misadventure is gone. Then I want to lay you out on the big, soft bed and suck you off until you've pulled the sheets loose and and are begging me to make you come. And then I want to fuck you, face to face, looking into your eyes and swearing that I will never, ever, ever let something like this happen to you again. And then I want to wrap you up in a fluffy robe and tangle our limbs together and sleep until it's all nothing but a bad memory. … And then I want to wake up and take you home and watch you play with my dog and do it all over again."

Eames' eyes are shining.

"I may have made a lot of mistakes in our not-yet-a-relationship. But I'm not going to let you have anything less than what you deserve when it comes to this moment. I may have turned our first meeting into a sour note, but let me make this first time right."

Eames' face is flushed as he leans forward to kiss Arthur sweetly. 

"Is that a promise darling?"

 


End file.
